Anachronisms
by Karashi
Summary: Set in Cross Epoch, just an exploration on what could have happened at the party. Written for the BulmaVegeta community on LJ.


**Disclaimers:**  
Dragon Ball Z and its respective characters belong to Akira Toriyama. One Piece and its respective characters belong to Eiichiro Oda.

**Author's Notes:**  
This was written in response to the **Senses Challenge** from Madison's writing community Blue and Black (community[dot]livejournal[dot]com/bulmavegeta) over on LJ. This was inspired by the amazing crossover manga between Dragon Ball Z and One Piece called "Cross Epoch." However, because I focused on the DBZ characters and only mentioned a One Piece character, I decided to place it here. If this should be in the crossover section, please let me know and I'll move it there.

* * *

**Prompt:** Sense - Sight**  
Title:** Blind Spot

At precisely three in the afternoon, a group of friends had gathered at Shen Long's abode. They had seen the skies darken the day before, felt the mighty dragon's power ripple through the cosmos, heard his voice in their heads and hearts bid them partake in a humble feast. Though humble was hardly the word as Shen Long had seen fit to fashion every surface of his dwelling with every manner of food and drink imaginable to satisfy his guests and their insatiable appetite.

_And they're all here,_ the Space Pirate beamed happily as she meandered about. She waved and hugged and chatted with these people, rivals and friends alike, that she hadn't seen in months. Years, even!

Graciously, she accepted a generous slice of strawberry shortcake from a horned, lavender-haired young man's outstretched hand. She winked at him and wondered out loud why she never noticed just how handsome he was all those times their paths had crossed. She giggled when his face turned beet red, hastily excusing himself as he all but flew to the other side of the Wish Dragon's home. She should know better than to tease the young man but it was simply too much fun.

Without batting an eye, she good-naturedly jabbed her fork onto a hand that had wandered dangerously close to cupping her rear.

"Try that again and you won't be so lucky next time." There was nothing in her eyes that indicated a slow, painful death would befall him if he tried to grope her once again. (At least not by her hands.) There was no malice in her voice, no threatening undertones in her words. She was just stating the obvious.

"I don't know what you mean, Bulma," The old lawman Roshi nervously laughed.

She nibbled absently on a particularly large chunk of strawberry shortcake for a few moments, letting him prattle on about some medical condition that excused his hands of being drawn to particularly round, well-shaped curves. Her simple statement of "Vegeta's eye-patch is _not_ a blind spot." managed to silence the old pervert and had him scurrying towards the same direction the blushing young man had gone.

Bulma's azure eyes glittered in self-satisfaction as she watched the retreating figure. And when she saw the murderous glare the Sky Pirate Captain's remaining onyx eye shot the old lawman, it was all she could do to bite back the laughter bubbling in her throat.

* * *

**Prompt:** Sense - Taste**  
Title:** Savory

What had started out as afternoon tea at Shen Long's had somehow transformed into an early dinner party as the guests continued to eat and drink their fill. The dainty pastries had been replaced with meat, with no one realizing the switch until their teeth sunk into the marinated skin and perfectly roasted flesh of their meal. The river of tea that flowed through the Wish Dragon's abode forked into two, the left still the comforting, steeped liquid, and the right deepening into heady ambrosia.

The never-ending supply of food and drink made most of the guests whistle in appreciation while the more innocent-minded gaped in wide-eyed reverence.

The Sky Pirate Captain, on the other hand, acknowledged the Wish Dragon's ability with a nod of respect and appreciation. He would conduct himself with dignity as befitting his station and title. For neither Princes nor Captains gawked slack-jawed at mere parlor tricks. Then his brows knitted together, mouth pulling into a deep frown when his rival and the young, rubbery boy (both Captains of their own crew) each gave a whoop of joy for the table that had been bare was once again heavy laden with the burden of food.

He couldn't decide who to snarl instructions of decorum at first, but the serene way Shen Long hung in the air, content to simply watch his guests enjoy themselves stilled his tongue. The idea of disrupting the merry atmosphere left a bad taste in his mouth. So much so, he found himself downing a flagon of wine in one very desperate and unrefined gulp.

"You're trying to get plastered already?" A familiar voice teased.

"Inebriety is more enjoyable than having _you_ for company, Woman," he smirked, enjoying the way the Space Pirate seemed to bristle. It wasn't the insult that made those blue eyes of hers flash in indignation. They both knew she hated it when he addressed her as Woman.

"Forgotten my name already, Vegeta? Guess you Saiyans just can't hold your liquor as well as you hold your own in combat," she snorted, before leaning in close and whispering into his ear "Or in bed."

Vegeta nearly spat the mouthful of wine he had taken. "Must you be so vulgar, Woman?" He snarled, half-aghast and half-amused.

"Must you keep calling me that?" She snarled back, "You know damn well my name is Bulma! Kami, you call everyone else here by their name or rank but not me! Why is that?"

His remaining eye glittered in delight at the ire clearly etched across Bulma's face. He took another drink, not even realizing that it was not the wine that he enjoyed on his tongue. It was the banter, the arguments, the insults, and backhanded compliments that poured from his Woman's lips as well as his own.

Still, Vegeta was both Prince and Captain and he knew he should give his host the proper respect. But the Wish Dragon's countenance was as serene and content as it had been before the Sky Pirate and the Space Pirate began their verbal sparring. Had Vegeta not thrown Bulma a remark so thickly wrapped in innuendo that she responded in an embarrassed, high-pitched shriek, he might have heard the amused rumbling on Shen Long's tongue.

* * *

**Prompt:** Sense - Hearing  
**Title:** Tin Ear

Fury radiated from her in massive waves as she stormed towards the table that placed her as far away as possible from the cause of her rage. Her hands were balled into such tight fists her knuckles paled. Had she not been wearing gloves she would have drawn blood. She gave a snarl, ignoring the startled gasps of those seated, when she viciously grabbed at her cap and slammed it down on the table.

"That smug, arrogant bastard!" Bulma glowered as she sank down into her seat. She was pouting like a child that had just finished a tantrum but hadn't quite gotten over why she had thrown one in the first place. It wasn't long before the Space Pirate noticed the knowing stares her friends were giving her. She raised placating hands before her, forcing a laugh from her throat and a promise that she was fine from her lips.

_Kami, I must look and sound like such a spoiled brat,_ she thought as her cheeks grew warm.

Embarrassment gave way to anger when she realized she wouldn't have been acting this way if it weren't for that blasted Sky Pirate Captain. It had been months since they last saw each other. A pleasant conversation was all she had wanted from him. Was that too much to ask? Apparently so, because their little discussion on the finer points of etiquette and decorum had somehow escalated into a heated argument that was half an octave shy of a full-blown scream fest.

She frowned, her brows knitting together in an almost perfect mimicry of the Saiyan's. Damn it, she knew he was baiting her. She had seen it in his mien as he spoke, in the subtle shift of his stance that would have left him open for an attack. She wasn't fool enough to take a swing at him, tempted as she was. It would have been one more thing he would use against her. So she tore at him with her words and parried his insults with snide remarks of her own.

The air surrounding them crackled and wavered in heat-haze from the intensity of their stares and not their argument. Because his snarls were more amused than angry. Because his insults lacked any sharp-edged malice. Because when he growled threats in that low baritone of his, it sounded as if he was whispering sweet nothings.

And when he hissed, dead serious in finality, did she hear it.

He did not say the words. Not out loud. But it was in his voice. It was in the too-familiar, too-intimate way he sneered and laughed and mocked her. Somehow, it tumbled out of her mouth without her consent, soft, urgent, and the slightest bit frightened: "I miss you."

The fury that was threatening to burst in her chest suddenly dissipated.

And it returned tenfold at the triumphant smirk that tugged at his lips when Bulma voiced the unspoken sentiment between them.

"You win this time, bastard," Bulma mumbled to herself.

* * *

**Prompt:** Sense - Smell  
**Title:** Lingering

The party continued late into the night with Shen Long's guests spilling onto the dance floor (alcohol steeling their nerves while meddling with their coordination) and breaking out into loud, slurred, tawdry (and very much off-key) songs. As amusing as it was to watch his crew members make utter fools of themselves, Vegeta decided that it was a better idea to head back to his Sky Barge and wait for them there. There were too few guests sober enough to know better than to invite him in their version of merriment.

With his cape trailing after him, the Pirate Captain silently departed. He paused at the entrance just long enough to give a wordless nod to the Wish Dragon lounging at the other end of the enormous room. Shen Long returned the gesture almost imperceptibly with a twitch of his massive claw rather than his head.

Vegeta appreciated the being's discretion, knowing full well many of the guests had little idea of the concept and absolutely no clue of the practice. A wry smile threatened to tug at his lips at the thought of a certain, blue-haired Space Pirate. But it was this same thought that forced the calm line of his mouth to curl into a scowl.

He snorted and made his way down the long corridor that led to the docking bay where his ship was anchored. He flew up to the deck, made a quick sweep for any Ki signatures, and when satisfied he was alone he headed inside. Vegeta's feet took him down a flight of stairs, past the cabin of his crew, and stopped at the room just before his own private quarters.

A moment passed and his gloved hand was on the panel built into the wall, fingers typing the access code without a second thought. A moment passed and his hand was on the smooth surface of the door. Another moment passed before he pushed and swung the door open despite the hinges creaking in protest.

Stale air greeted him, dust motes tickling his nose when he strode in. He made no motion to turn on the light. He was quite comfortable in the darkness, perfectly content to close his good eye and let the smell of the room wash over him along with the memories that came unbidden. The smell of ink and oil, greasy and pungent, drying on parchment and rags. The aroma of honeysuckle soap and rose candles, floral and feminine, clinging to clothes and hair. No matter how strong the perfume of machinery and flowers, he had always found the scent of skin. Skin that smelled of spice and sky and burning desire all rolled into one.

_Her_ skin.

Vegeta's eye shot open. He forced down the lump that had formed in his throat as he studied the room that used to be hers. That should _still_ be hers, he growled to himself. He'd forbidden anyone to enter or disturb anything that was housed within. Not even to tidy the rumpled bed sheets of the cot tucked in the corner, nor wipe the thick layer of dust off the porthole.

The room didn't smell of her anymore, he thought. He wondered if he should be surprised or if it was to be expected. He hadn't been in here in months. Didn't plan on being in here this soon. Or ever again.

"Blasted Woman."

He had no intention of approaching her at the party or even acknowledging her presence. But she had sauntered up to him, and twirled a finger on a strand of her azure locks when he met her gaze. Her blue eyes shone brightly, her warm smile extending what he assumed was an olive branch.

And then she opened her mouth.

He couldn't help himself. She just made it so easy. He mocked her intelligence and called her Woman. She got in his face and mocked his title and pride. She had drawn so close to him that if he had really been as enraged as he was letting on, his Ki would have singed the tips of her hair. Their bodies never touched, but her breath was on his skin while she snapped at him in a pitch just below a shriek.

She smelled faintly of alcohol. (Then again almost everyone at the party did.) But he could pick out the smell of grease beneath her gloves, of Chikyuu roses beneath the cap on her head. And found the need to be able to smell her scent on his own skin was so, so great it ached.

He squared his shoulders, his arms folding behind his ramrod straight back when he caught something in the air.

He didn't need to identify the negligible Ki signature that had arrived at the doorway. Didn't need to glance over his shoulder to recognize who knocked and greeted him with a teasing "Housekeeping."

Because he smelled Spice. And Sky. And Burning Desire. All rolled into One.

* * *

**Prompt:** Sense - Touch  
**Title:** Pins & Needles

"What are you doing here?" Vegeta growled softly, his back turned to the woman leaning against the doorframe. He didn't see the playful smile on her face falter slightly, nor the wave of self-doubt that washed across her delicate features at his tone. But he heard the feather-soft gait of her approach, felt her tiny Ki signature draw near until nothing more than a hair's breadth separated them.

"I promised Usopp I'd give the engine a quick tune-up," Bulma began, "But I don't have the code key to the engine room. Not anymore," she added, almost failing to hide the undertone of sadness in her voice.

"The half-breed never changed it," the Saiyan grunted.

"Oh."

A beat.

Then a rustle of fabric as Bulma grabbed a fistful of Vegeta's cape and sharply yanked. She wasn't strong enough to move him. They both knew this. But she was more than a match for him in stubbornness, and pride, and the inability to admit defeat. So she tugged and pulled until the garment threatened to rip. There was barely any strength used when he whipped around and tugged back. But it was enough for her to lose her footing and send her stumbling forward into his chest with a soft squeak of surprise.

She felt him tense at the contact, and as she looked up at his face saw the Prince second-guess himself over his next course of action. She made the decision for him, burying her face in the crook of his neck while her arms looped around him. Kami, she had so many things she wanted to scream and say and apologize for. Except her tongue would undoubtedly stumble on the words and they would fall from her lips as little more than the incoherent sobs of heartache.

Vegeta kept his arms against his sides, knowing full well that in the privacy of his ship, any attempt to push her away would only result in him gathering her into an embrace. He did not fear that such a pathetic display of affection would make him seem weak. There was no one foolish enough to suggest such a thing be it to his face or behind his back. He did not fear that she would reject him. Bulma made it abundantly clear how she felt for him. No, he feared that if he held her again, after so many months of being apart, that he would not have the strength to let her go.

"Woman, you already know the code key. Why haven't you gone to fix that infernal machine?" he snarled, his good eye peering down imperiously at her.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think I'm not wanted," she rolled her eyes.

"I only allow two types of people on my ship: Crew and Prisoners. Seeing as you are _neither_, you do the math," he smirked.

His biting comments only prompted Bulma to bring her hand to his face, brushing her fingers along the line of his jaw before they rose to his cheeks. She paused hesitantly beneath his eye patch, a wave of shame crashing over her.

Vegeta did not try to move her hand from his face. He did not try to stop her from curling her arms around his neck, nor did he pull back when her lips followed the trail her fingers had made. Gods, did she not know what he wanted? Did she not realize it was taking every amount of restraint he had not to bind her to him by force? "Woman," he glowered, a soft, low warning in his throat.

She pulled back and studied him with a wounded expression that made it clear her next words weren't referring to his lost eye. "You haven't forgiven me, have you." It was a statement. One softly spoken and laced with regret and guilt and the heavy burden of a secret that could not be shared no matter the desire for the contrary.

"No, I haven't," was Vegeta's curt reply, the scowl on his face deepening. "And you haven't learned to trust me, have you." It was a statement as well. But one harshly spoken and undertoned with shame and anger and the white-hot pain of being the very reason such a fragile thing had broken in the first place.

"No, not really. And that's fine." She leaned forward to rest her forehead against his, her aqua-hued bangs hiding the pain in her eyes. "We aren't in any position to forgive or be forgiven. But..." she trailed off, biting her lower lip, questioning herself over the verity and sense of what she was about to claim.

His hand somehow found its way to the small of her back, relishing the warmth of her body and the faint tingle of her Ki signature. "But what?" he asked.

"But I can wait," she whispered.

She made it so easy for him to twist her words, _Your lack of patience proves otherwise._ He could turn this into a joke if he wanted to. Except he didn't. Not with the honest vulnerability in her voice, nor the desperate way she clung to him.

"_We_ can wait," he corrected.

And he was thanked with a radiant, honest smile that preceded the brief taste of her lips.

"Woman, if you wish to keep your freedom, you will go and check on the engine," Vegeta warned none too steadily as he slowly folded his arms behind his back and held them there. "Now."

"Aye, aye Ouji-sama!" Bulma winked before quickly disappearing to the engine room.


End file.
